It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

When will you admit that a constitution can’t control state?
Reality no longer seems to matter to dysfunctional culture in denial
Some of us feel rage at authority, even as disobedience can hurt us
Would you secretly kill someone to get what you want the most?
As I faced my father’s narcissism, I had to confront who I’d become
Grow veggies in your own yard? ‘You’re heading to jail, you criminal’
Thugs attacking private property aren’t anarchists; they’re vandals
Politicians have no right dictating the menu of your kid’s Happy Meal
‘One more thing’ can never bring the peace we can have right now